Champions
by slenderpanda597
Summary: Barry and Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves have interesting pasts, an incredible present, and intriguing futures...
1. Chapter 1

(a/n - barvonne is now my official hi de hi otp and their relationship just intrigues me so much so I am going to try and write it, sticking as much to canon as possible. I know I have so many fics that need updating but yeah... Sorry. Here's another I should start. Meh. I hope it is okay.)

Champions

Chapter 1

Bert Pratt leaped about the small back yard happily, careful to be quiet upon the stones. He was five years old, and Britain had been at war for as long as he could remember. All the other children his age played at war, with the boys marching up the street pretending to be soldiers hunting for the Germans and the girls rushing to them with leaves and bits of moss in order to pretend to patch them up when they fell. Bert, however, was totally alone. He didn't want to play war games, he wanted to dance and perform and be smart. He dreaded the day he would have to join school this year, and learn to be a young soldier, quite probably. Bert Pratt was not one for fighting.

Bert Pratt was an outsider from the first day he ever set foot inside the local school. A smallish boy, he had fluffy curls of a mousy colour and big chocolate eyes which made him look like a startled deer. His teacher was a young woman by the name of Miss Hurst and all the children loved her. On the first day she sat all the children in a circle and had them give their names, their parents' occupations and what they wanted to be when they grew up. For most it was the same repetitive spiel.

"Libby Morrison. My mummy is a nurse and my daddy is a soldier. I want to be a nurse."

"James Patricks. My mummy is a nurse and my daddy is a soldier. I want to be a soldier."

"Jessica Andrews. My mummy is a shopkeeper and my daddy is a soldier. I want to be a teacher."

"Samuel Radnor. My mummy is a factory worker and my daddy is a pilot. I want to be a soldier."

"Bert Pratt. My mummy is a nurse and my daddy is a bus inspector. I want to be a dancer."

"A dancer?!" "His dad ain't in the army!" "Tippy toes!" "Ballerina Bert!" "You're strange!"

The young boy Bert Pratt would have the same words echoing in his ears for weeks, until the armistice was signed and the war was no more. Then, he would still be subjected to regular abuse from the other children, though not as much about war. Just that he wanted to be a dancer.

As he grew up, Bert Pratt grew taller than most other boys of his age. He practiced dancing religiously everyday in his bedroom, neglecting writing stories and drawing pictures and reading books in favour of twirling his battered old teddy bear about his bedroom in a rickety two step that he was trying to commit to memory after seeing a brief glimpse of what it looked like at an end of war street party. Once he turned thirteen, Bert stayed at home much more than other children, choosing to read to his parents or make them meals instead of socialising with other children. He only ever left the house to go to school, and frequently came home covered in bruises and sores which he tried to hide from his parents so as not to cause them worry. The other children beat him up as soon as they saw him, calling him a mollyboy and a coward and a baby and telling him that god hated him, as god had no place for ballerina Bert. Their words stung just as much as their punches, kicks and slaps and Bert had a hard time refraining from crying to himself everyday. His only solace was practicing being a ballroom champion in his little bedroom.

Bert's parents had always been very encouraging of his dreams of becoming a performer, although they were distinctly worried by their son's lack of friends. They noticed the bruises which he struggled to hide and the fact that those around him in Nottingham did not appear to appreciate their son's lifelong ambitions. And so it was when, at sixteen years old, in 1930, Bert announced that he was moving to Sunderland in order to try and fulfil his dreams, his parents allowed him, with his promise that he would keep in touch. In the summer of 1930, Bert Pratt waved goodbye to the ghosts of his childhood in Nottingham.

Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves was a pale skinned girl with flaming ginger curls which flowed down her back in a long river of flames. No other children in the surrounding area had such fabulous hair, in her opinion, and she firmly believed that it was her crowning feature. Born in 1914, her father was in a job with a reputable furniture company, and Yvonne decided that her father was so much better than those of other children, who were all butchers or farmers or policemen. Yvonne didn't necessarily not get on with other children, in fact, many of them all called upon her to play with them when they went on adventures or picnics or trips. But the truth was that Yvonne just felt much too superior for them. She was thirteen years old, and had, for the past few months, been undergoing all of the necessary changes that a girl must have in order to enter womanhood. It had started off as a confusing time, and Yvonne had listened to her mother and smiled as she was told how she was growing up and becoming mature. And Yvonne had beamed happily and gone once again to read or study or chat with some of the other children. But, of course, her feelings were all over the place. Yvonne began to desire something. She wasn't sure what, but she suddenly realised how Timothy Barnes had a nice jawline, or how Matthew Wallander had incredible eyes. And Yvonne smiled to herself as other girls didn't seem to be changing the way she was.

Every few months, Yvonne's father and mother would attend a party held by the company her father worked at. It was at thirteen years old that Yvonne was allowed to attend one of these gatherings for the first time, and it was here that Yvonne suddenly changed. She had been watching the dancefloor all night, slowly swaying along to the music and dancing along in her head. Yvonne could dance to some extent, as her father had placed her upon his feet from a young age and moved her round the living room of their family home. Dance was something Yvonne was passionate about, and she would have spent her entire life chasing a career in it if her father hadn't been such a strict man. He told her countless times how he didn't serve for the country when she was a small girl to get her a job dancing. Dancing was a hobby. Being a housewife or maid was a woman's job. Heck, why had they even just got the vote? Her mother echoed her father's wishes for her to have a normal career. At the party, Yvonne suddenly found herself being bought a drink by an attractive man of about eighteen. He was young and rather physically fit, with a slight moustache developing on his upper lip, with a charming smile to boot, Yvonne noted. She smiled and sipped it politely, before agreeing to his offer of a dance. He seemed perfectly lovely, although her head got foggier with every drink he presented her with. Eventually, he led her outside for some cool, refreshing air. It was then that he pushed her roughly against the wall and his hands began to travel. Yvonne felt shocked and confused, and squealed somewhat. Her father came outside to have a pipe soon after and saw the scene. The seemingly nice gentleman from earlier disappeared, leaving Yvonne collapsed on the ground in a crumpled heap, feeling used, violated and suspicious of everyone. Her father's harsh words about being a shameful hussy would sound throughout her head for weeks to come, as she cursed herself for drinking and getting led astray. From then on, Yvonne didn't trust a soul. And she kept up this personal barricade against other people by turning herself into a well-speaking, patronising person. Her father never allowed her to any parties ever again.

In 1931, aged seventeen, Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves left home. She had had enough of her time in Southport. She was ready to make her own way in life.


	2. Chapter 2

(a/n - aww, my poor babies! Barry is just so perfect and when he leaves between series 7 and 8 I actually almost die of feels, especially as Yvonne is so heartbroken... And then Julian comes along. Ugh, Julian. Anyway, on with the story.)

Chapter 2

Bert Pratt had now been in Sunderland for almost a year, and was making a little money for himself by performing in chorus lines in theatres around the city. He didn't particularly enjoy the work, but he longed to become successful, and found that chorus work was easy to come by and money was difficult to get hold of. Though he wasn't paid particularly well, he managed to get by, since he shared his wages in a strict ratio between rent, necessities and dances. Bert had discovered, much to his dismay, that proper dancing instructors were rather expensive, and he just couldn't afford the sort of money they cost. However, he reasoned that if, by mimicking a jerky two step from one end of war street party could lead to him getting chorus parts, if he paid a lot of attention and concentration at dances regularly, he would be able to teach himself and get better with time. And so it was that whenever Bert was not in work and a dance was on, he would buy a ticket and sit by the bar, watching foot movements and body language until his eyes hurt. Never once did anybody ask Bert Pratt to dance, and though he felt a little disheartened that nobody wanted him as a partner, he consoled himself by admiring the physique of the legs of certain males, and staring at their bodies. He couldn't help it, but some stood out more than others, and he was quite content to spend an evening stirring a drink to make it last as long as possible while people watching.

Every evening, Bert would practice his dancing by himself in his cramped bedroom. With no real partner to work with, he had to make do with pillows and cushions and the old teddy bear which had journeyed with him from his childhood home. Bert could soon do a basic tango with a good level of skill, and was busy trying to work out how to perfect a more exotic salsa which he had seen only twice at a dance. Without a partner this was rather difficult but he kept persevering and eventually he decided that he had the basics covered. While on stage with the chorus, he dreamt of a day when his name would be upon an award. While sat at a bar he would dream of holding a perfect partner in his arms as people applauded their style. And these dreams kept him going. Bert Pratt bad survived all of the insults and physical abuse as a child, and he was determined that he would prove all of those childhood nemeses wrong.

He moved around quite frequently, staying in theatrical digs all over Sunderland. Around a year after he had first left home, Bert had landed himself a chorus role in a long term production, and was staying in a room in a large, somewhat modern house, which was situated near to the theatres and other entertainment venues. The rooms were all taken rather quickly, due to its convenient location, and all sorts of performing artists lived within its walls. Bert would attend rehearsals every other day, and when he wasn't with the chorus line he would practice dances and exercises in his room. Really, he hadn't done too badly for himself, as he hadn't starved to death yet. He wasn't the most sociable of people, and he kept himself to himself. But Bert Pratt had a caring and sensitive disposition, from looking after his parents to wanting to entertain others, he had never been of a violent nature, which had never helped his case at school. However, Bert began to notice someone. She was probably a similar age to him, and had a very distinctive colour of hair. She held herself well, and had a graceful air about her. However, she also seemed lost, insecure and nervous. She lived in his digs, he knew that, for he had seen her order the taxi driver to bring her cases inside the house as he looked out of the window while stretching his right leg up against the window sill. He also knew that she was part of the theatre, as she had a minor role in the show he was in; he had seen her across the room they were rehearsing in not a week previously. And though she always appeared confident, there was something about her that made Bert concerned - some sort of vulnerability. Not many would have seen it from up close, never mind the distance Bert had seen it at, but years of looking after his parents and hiding in corners of school yards and sitting inconspicuously at dances had led to Bert becoming a champion people watcher. And this girl intrigued him.

Yvonne had booked her room at the train station. A house central to all of the theatres, it would be a prime location. Furthermore, she had telephoned and been given an audition by a local theatre. The small sum she had taken with her from Southport just covered the cost of rent for the next few months, and she was sure that she would live comfortably once she found work. Yvonne auditioned as soon as she reached the theatre. She recited poetry and sang and danced in front of the director and musical organisers and was delighted when she was offered the part. It was only a small part, but she decided that she would move onwards and upwards from it. She arrived at her digs by taxi, and had the driver bring her cases in. Being one of the final people to have booked, Yvonne had a small box room downstairs, just below the stairs and near the door. It was cramped and dark with just enough room for a single bed and a set of drawers, and it was a world apart from the comfort and fine furnishings she was used to from her where her father worked. But Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves was a defiantly stubborn young woman, and she was adamant that she would make herself into an artiste if it was the last thing she did.

The arrangement did take some getting used to. The house was noisy and cluttered and she had to share facilities with a whole abundance of other people. Mealtimes and mornings were awful for Yvonne, due to the sheer amount of noise. Yvonne had always been wary of noise. The slightest whisper woke her up as a child, and though she thought she had grown accustomed, after her father yelling at her with such force after the incident when she was thirteen, Yvonne was constantly flinching away from noise, which wasn't the best option for someone desiring a career in performance. She sang and delivered her lines perfectly in all rehearsals, gaining pride from the fact that she was a similar age to some of the chorus members, and had a better part than them. And Yvonne always practiced ballet exercises and other dance moves as best as she could, though it was difficult in the small room which she occupied. And the fact that she didn't sleep well meant she tired very easily. Yvonne was musing over the local newspaper one evening when an advert caught her eye. She did some quick thinking regarding her current financial state, and smiled, before heading off to use a telephone.


	3. Chapter 3

(a/n - I am trying to keep this as close to canon as possible but obviously there may be a few inaccuracies. Of course, since I forgot to mention, I own nothing - hi de hi belongs to its creators. I am merely trying to fill in the gaps of this wonderful couple.)

Chapter 3

Bert sat stirring his drink, watching the dancers move around the room with varying levels of grace and accuracy. He noted new moves which he could practice back in his rooms, and he admired the strength of some of the men as they lifted their partners. Bert felt a little twinge of sadness inside him, for he longed to be able to lift a partner with such elegance, but he just couldn't practice that sort of thing with a cushion, and he wasn't sure he could just ask somebody if he could practice lifts with them. He consoled himself with the fact that though some of the males had partners, they couldn't dance as well as he could. But then, he had to remind himself, they weren't striving to be professionals. They were just on a date. Bert Pratt had never even got close to a date with anybody. He sipped his drink and watched the people from his lonely spot by the bar. The room was crowded but he didn't miss the door opening from the corner of his eye, and it peaked his curiosity. The door opening wasn't a strange thing in itself, but normally the couples had all arrived by this point in the evening, and wouldn't leave until at least half an hour from the time they were at. Then it dawned upon him that no couples had entered or left. In fact, one solitary figure was making their way cautiously through the throngs, eyes darting nervously from side to side as if somebody might capture them at any a moment. She stopped by the bar, and he smiled. Perhaps she needed a friend. Bert could attempt to be a friend, could he not? He coughed and she nearly leapt a foot into the air, before turning and narrowing her eyes at him. He smiled.

"Sorry if I startled you, do you want a drink?" She eyed him up and down before shaking her head and purchasing her own. Bert shrugged and went back to listening to the music. He kept glancing at her sideways, and she eventually addressed him again. She had a very well to do accent.

"Excuse me, but one does not stare at a lady without addressing her. Would you mind ceasing your dreadful behaviour?"

"Sorry, I was just admiring your hair." Her eyebrows rose.

"Do I know you from somewhere? You're an awfully common person, with a Nottingham accent. Where on earth could I have met you?"

"I am in the chorus of the show you are currently in, and I live in the same digs as you."

"Oh, you're a chorus boy. Have you been following me around?"

"No, I've been everywhere before you. The show, the digs, this dance. If anything, you're following me." He laughed slightly, but quickly stopped as she looked to be affronted.

"How very dare you address me like that! How such a common boy got into a show that myself and other artistes are in I will never know!"

"I aim to be a performer."

"Oh? Good luck then." She turned away and sipped her drink some more, while Bert tried to mull over what had just gone on. She didn't seem especially thrilled to speak to him, and he couldn't say that she was the most pleasant person he had ever met, but he still had a feeling there was something that she wasn't revealing. He wondered what to do, since he wasn't very good at expressing his emotions verbally. He considered all of his options carefully.

After a while, the dance came to a little lull while all of the couples came and refreshed themselves before the band started up once more. Bert allowed his mind to wander again, dreaming of awards and lifts and applause while his half empty glass sat untouched in his hand. Oh, what he would give to be a professional dancer! Bert was determined that he wouldn't be a chorus boy for the rest of his life. He would prove himself to all of those children in his youth, and to the posh speaking girl by his side, staring into space and smoothing her hair down, despite the fact all the clips she had in were holding it up perfectly. As the band started again, he tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to dance?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Would you like to dance? We are both sat on our own at a dance, and nobody wishes to be our partner. Why don't we partner up?" He hoped he was making himself clear enough. She really did look rather elegant in her dress. She looked around the room slightly.

"Can you dance?"

"A little. I aim to get better, but I can't without a partner very easily."

"Your grammar is appalling."

"Sorry. Would you like to dance?" She sighed.

"That's the third time you've asked. Okay."

Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves could barely believe her ears when she heard herself agreeing. What was she doing, agreeing to dance with a common chorus boy who had offered to buy her a drink? He was a little attractive, and she couldn't deny that he had potential. If he wasn't wearing such an awful outfit and didn't have such a common accent, he might be a little better. She watched as he downed the rest of his glass in one go and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. She shuddered.

"Waste not, want not!" He smiled before reaching out uncertainly, and taking her in his arms. Yvonne didn't want to admit it, but his arms were wonderful. So strong and yet so gentle, he handled her like a delicate object, almost how one would treat a doll or a teddy bear. He wasn't the best dancer, she had to admit, but then, he had never claimed to be one. And Yvonne knew that though she had received some ballet lessons and her father had taught her young self the basics of ballroom, she was no professional. Though she aimed to be, as did he, apparently. As they moved around the room, Yvonne allowed her mind to wander to the first time she had danced with someone in a setting like this. When she was thirteen, and a young man had offered her drinks and dances and had then tried for more. The situations were so very similar. But now she was the same age more or less as the male, and had denied his offer of drinks. Yet she was still dancing with him. Yvonne couldn't say she disliked the feel of his hand upon her waist, and his shoulder beneath her palm. And so one dance became several, and soon the band were playing the final song. A slow waltz for the couples in the room. He steered her towards the edge of the room, and she suddenly felt a strange sense of deja vu. But then he stopped, and whispered in her ear.

"Do you want to do this dance, or not?" She looked up at his honest face.

"Why not?" She smiled, and put her head against his chest. Her mind was screaming at her to stop, telling her that she didn't know what she was doing, that he would destroy her. But the rest of her body was taking over, and she felt as if she was her thirteen year old self all over again and she swayed with his heartbeat beneath her ear.

All too soon the dance was over, and he spun her outwards as if they had performed the move a thousand times, before kissing her hand courteously. He smiled down at her.

"Why thank you. I really enjoyed that." He grinned from ear to ear and some part inside of her marvelled at his childish joy at dancing with her. He offered her his arm and she took it, surprised at what a budding gentleman lay underneath the common coating. He escorted her outside and he chatted idly with her as they walked along. Yvonne was actually surprised at how pleasant she was now being with him. Despite his awful accent and mannerisms, he wasn't too bad. He was very tall. And he could look so much better in a proper suit, she decided.

"I hope you don't mind me escorting you home, but you've been a wonderful partner, and we are going the same way."

"Not at all. I would feel safer with somebody to protect me now it is going dark."

"Nothing will happen to you. I wouldn't dare to let it."

"Thank you... What is your name?" She asked, suddenly realising that she had danced with somebody for an entire evening without knowing their name.

"Bert Pratt. And yourself?"

"Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves."

"Oh. My name is boring compared to that." She agreed. An awful name. If he changed some of his ways, he could be worthy of a much more distinguished name, she thought. Something with a little more air and grace about it. When they reached the digs, he stopped in the hallway, and she felt a creeping sensation fill her body as she realised what was probably going to happen. He dipped his head.

"Now, which room is yours? First or second floor?"

"None. Ground floor."

"You mean your room is down here?"

"Yes, just there." Yvonne indicated the cupboard room and he raised his eyebrows.

"Oh. Well, have a good night of sleep then. I may see you tomorrow. Or at the next dance." He smiled, and kissed her knuckles again. "Goodnight, Yvonne." He left and as she sat down on her bed, she heard his light footfalls on the stairs heading to whichever room above was his. He wasn't that bad, really. He had potential. She decided that her investment of a ticket to the dance had been a good choice afterall. Even if it had appeared at first that nobody wanted to dance with her. For she had spent half of the evening dancing with somebody, and, she realised, having some level of fun with somebody. Granted, they weren't the elite gentlemen who dined with her family back in Southport. But Yvonne found them much more interesting. They had potential to be more than just a chorus boy.


	4. Chapter 4

(a/n - I get that they've met each other rather quickly in the scheme of things but I want to focus more on the backstory of their relationship, not every little detail from infancy to early adulthood. Obviously I may write some more depending on how this goes, perhaps a ballerina Bert oneshot here or a little Yvonne one there but who knows? On with the story.)

Chapter 4

Bert Pratt lay in bed and stared at the ceiling above him, pondering various thoughts which were occupying his mind surrounding the mysteriously confusing woman who had joined him that evening. Outwardly, she appeared so aloof and proper, and Bert didn't doubt that she was of a much better standard of upbringing than himself - just her name screamed high middle class family. And yet she was alone in something smaller than a box room surrounded by common performers of varying nationalities. What on earth could drive such a young lady with presumably brilliant futures in front of her to take a minor part in a show which was held somewhere where she wasn't brought up, Bert guessed, for her accent was not one usually found in Sunderland, in fact one would suspect a more Shakespearean performer to have such an accent, although Bert did wonder how real the accent was, for he had noticed another accent creeping through slightly. Bert wanted to know all sorts of things about her, and his dreams that night were filled with recurring images of the pair dancing together that evening. For Bert, she had been his first proper partner at a dance. That was something special to him, for nobody had ever chosen to dance with him before, and though he had certainly never expected his invitation to be accepted, he was grateful that it had been. The feel of another human body against his as they moved taught Bert so much in so little time, and he found dancing with her rather easy. When he awoke early the next morning, Bert Pratt did all he had to do before leaving for the theatre, glancing at the cupboard room door as he did so.

The rehearsals were well under way at the theatre now, and the show was opening in around a month, so the whole company were beginning to work together in order to block it as smoothly as possible. Bert stole glances at her from across the stage as he danced with the rest of the chorus, and once, during the lunchtime, their eyes met and Bert was sure he saw a little pink hue rise in her cheeks as she quickly turned back to her sandwiches on her own. Bert did feel a little sorry for her, since he got on relatively well with his chorus companions, whereas she appeared to be isolated from the entire cast, even if she did put up an unaffected front about the issue. He made a mental note to tackle her about it at some point. He spent the rest of the day looking at some of the male members of the cast, and comparing their appearances in his head. There was a long while in which the chorus had a break, which gave him ample opportunity to rake his eyes over the legs and faces of the male actors, before getting up and joining into the rehearsal once more.

When he returned to the digs that evening, it was around the time that most of the occupants ate some sort of makeshift meal before heading out to perform or going upstairs after rehearsing. Bert went straight up to his room and practised some dance exercised, extending his legs up and outwards as he watched acrobats and dancers and actors exit the house. When he had completed his stretches he headed down to the communal kitchen and dining area which was now empty. He made himself some cheese on toast and munched it quietly. During weeks when he attended dances, Bert didn't eat anything too lavish. Normally, he would find somewhere close by that sold cheap meals and buy his food out two or three times a week. However, if he had spent extra on a dance ticket, he ate simply that week, having toast or crackers or pie from the local butchers which he would share into enough portions to last him for a few meals over the week. Bert didn't hate social interaction, but he found that his time was better spent exercising and doing other routines whilst every other occupant rushed around each other to try and heat things up or find their marked items in the pantry or wash the cutlery. Then he could have the entire area to himself to do as he needed before retiring to either a dance or to his room, given the fact that he was never invited out socially. He additionally got up early in the mornings so that he could use the communal bathroom facilities first and the kitchen area. That way, he could timetable as much rehearsal as possible into his day. After his meal, Bert headed back to his room, though he stopped outside the cupboard room on the way, debating with himself whether or not Yvonne would want him to visit her. He decided that he wouldn't approach her in her rooms, since it felt a little forward and Bert wasn't sure how to act around such a proper person. So he plodded upstairs to his room, where he grabbed a pillow and danced for the rest of the evening, before deciding to have a wash before going to bed.

Yvonne awoke to the sound of hammering above her head as seemingly every occupant of the digs thundered up and down the stairs towards the kitchen, bathroom and out of the door. She pulled her dressing gown on and exited her room, joining the mass of performers struggling to find cereal or porridge or other such breakfast items. Eventually, Yvonne had eaten her breakfast and had a wash, so she got dressed and headed to the theatre to rehearse, with a niggling feeling in her brain. She couldn't fathom what was irritating her so, but once she was in the theatre, she realised. As she eyed the chorus lines, she recognised the young man who had danced with her the evening previously, and then she realised. He hadn't been at breakfast. She pondered what this meant, as it surely signified the fact that he either didn't live at the digs, or that he didn't eat. She concentrated on her performance but she found herself glancing over at him whenever she had a slight break. During lunch, she sat alone as usual, while he sat in the company of his fellow chorus people. Their eyes met briefly and she turned away quickly, praying that she wasn't blushing. She couldn't believe that she had been caught staring at somebody, which was such a common trait! And yet she still found herself noticing how his eyes followed the males upon the stage as she performed, which led her to other conclusions about him. She decided to question him about it if he ever approached her again.

Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves headed back to the digs fairly late on after an extended rehearsal for the actors of the show. She found herself thrown into the usual chaotic dining scene where she ate some food whilst looking for Bert. He never showed up. Her brow furrowed as she tried to examine why he never appeared to be in the digs. She retired to her little room where she lay on her bed and tried to stretch her legs in the little room she had. As she failed to successfully complete her exercises, she pulled her hair down from the style it was in, and allowed it to fall over her shoulders. She brushed through it, wincing as the knots caught and pulled her head. Soon, she decided that there was only one option which she could do in order to clear her mind.

Yvonne crept up the stairs to the first floor of the building, feeling as though she was trespassing into unknown territory. She reached the landing area where she looked at all of the doors leading to bedrooms. None of them appeared to belong to Bert so she ascended a second flight of stairs leading to the second floor. Just as she was reaching the top of the stairs in a world of her own she bumped into somebody and lost her footing.

"Sorry. Here." Two arms wrapped around her and pulled her up and she found herself face to face with the person she was going to find, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Her mind blanked as she took account of how dreadfully common she would look if she said that she was trying to find his room - it was scandalous! He smiled and walked back up the stairs with her, grinning with his lovely (although somewhat common) smile from the previous evening.

"What are you doing up here?" He asked.

"Um... Just looking around the place. Getting some exercise," she waved her hands vaguely, hoping that he wouldn't question her any further. He studied her face and changed the subject, appearing to register her discomfort.

"Well I was heading for a wash, though I can wait if you want to talk or anything?" The offer was there, unspoken, but she picked up on the subtle reference to establishing a proper friendship. She considered her options. He was dreadfully common, but he did have potential. And she wanted to ask him some things since he evidently did live in the digs, so she nodded and he steered her towards a door at the front of the property. His bedroom was huge in comparison to hers - she presumed he must have applied early for a space. She sat on his bed as he placed himself beside her. She felt a little uneasy after her previous experiences in her early teenage years but she couldn't say she felt threatened as he dusted off a pillow. His room was immaculately kept, with not a single thing out of place. He raised his eyebrows.

"Welcome to my room."

"Bert... Why if you live here are you never at mealtimes? Do you not eat?"

"Of course, just at less busy times so that I can spend more time exercising and rehearsing or travelling," he smiled. "You should get up early with me sometime." Yvonne gasped and her mind whirled at his comment as he became a little frantic. "No! I didn't mean... I meant... You should try getting up earlier; it is much less stressful in the morning."

"Well I suppose I could try given the fact that I am currently awoken with everyone heading downstairs... Hold on, why don't I hear you?"

"I have very quiet footsteps. Dancers need to and all that. I work on it." She laughed at that. "I would never try and force you into bed with me." He added, seriously. She nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Well it is getting late, and you should have your wash. Hold on, it isn't that late!" She looked at the clock on his wall. He raised an eyebrow.

"Another congestion avoidance tactic. Get there early, miss the crowds." He smiled at her, and Yvonne felt that strange feeling which she had felt at the dance, where her body began to consume all logical thought and all of a sudden she found herself saying something which she hadn't known she would.

"What a good idea. I shall join you."


	5. Chapter 5

(a/n - okay, okay. I may have another character crush in the form of Barry. Is it bad that I can't watch britcoms without getting emotionally attached to some characters? Barry in Hi De Hi, Emmett in Keeping Up Appearances... Ah well, at least I am not alone *cough*Rose*cough*Joey*cough*Bread*cough* in my inadvertent attachments to these people forming. On we jolly well go then!)

Chapter 5

Bert scooped up the person in his arms, not really knowing who it was as he was trapped in his own thoughts. As it turned out, it was the person occupying his thoughts, and there she was again, with her cryptic answers and her awkward outbursts. Her hair was on a whole other level though. He had only ever seen it up tightly, and now it was down her back in flaming waves, and it was possibly one of the most wondrous sights Bert had ever seen. He yearned to reach out and touch it, to run his hands through it, to brush it softly. But he refrained from doing such things as they were clearly inappropriate and she was just coming around to the idea of friendship with him, until he inadvertently suggested that they sleep together. Then sort of admit that he wanted to sleep with her. Bert didn't even know if he wanted to be with her in that sort of a way, and his mouth was blabbering on about allsorts of rubbish! He resigned himself to knowing that she would never speak to him again, but then all of a sudden she was offering to wash with him, and Bert found himself accompanying her to her rooms before they headed to the communal wash area. Her room, he noticed, was tiny. There was no room to properly exercise and Bert had to duck his head to fit in there properly, although he was rather tall, which she remarked on as they headed into the wash area together.

"You are rather tall,"

"Yes,"

"Are your family tall?"

"Not especially."

"It is good having nobody in here,"

"Except us two, even though it is usually just me. I don't mind sharing with you though." She raised her eyebrows and Bert mentally slapped himself again as he realised that he had made yet another comment which sounded like he wanted to sleep with her! He turned to the mirror and began to brush his teeth and wash himself. The conversation had become awkward and stilted and he wasn't sure he liked the seemingly everlasting silence which had grown between them. He finshed his evening routine and she finished what she was doing, and Bert then turned towards her and smiled. She shyly smiled back at him, and he attempted to make some sort of conversation.

"So, are you liking the show?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Well then. Good night."

"Night then."

Bert soon found himself plodding back to his room after they had parted ways. For some reason unknown to him he had taken her wrist and kissed her hand as they had parted, and he hadn't stayed long enough to see how the gesture was taken. He decided that it was best for him to leave sooner rather than later, because he was walking in unknown territory by interacting with her, and he wasn't sure where he was heading with it. So, he soon found himself lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling and mulling over various thoughts which had taken up occupancy in his head. He was sure that she was beautiful, and he was sure that she was a good performer. He wasn't sure where his feelings lay regarding her, though. He certainly had a lot of respect for her, and he fancied that she had some sort of basic level of respect for him, even if he was completely common in relation to her if you observed their mannerisms and ways of speech. He didn't know when he dropped off, but his dreams were filled with himself, Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves, and a lot of dancing.

Yvonne closed her door behind her and pressed her body against it, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, as if a thousand cabbage whites had been released in her stomach and were flapping and fluttering about, flying and trying to flee from her insides. All he had done was brush his lips across her knuckles and she had melted internally, and she wanted to curse herself for allowing such a simple action to affect her in such a way. But then, all the time they were washing there had been a tense silence as she had felt too nervous to speak in case she showed herself up, and he evidently didn't want to disturb her. When he had left her outside her rooms with such a gallant gesture, she had momentarily forgot all of his common qualities and before her she had seen a noble gentleman who was just worthy to escort you somewhere. Of course, he wasn't quite there yet, but she thought that he could be, with a bit of work. Afterall, she reminded herself, Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves had once been a little more like the man on her mind.

She slept fitfully that night, her dreams filled with the tall chorus boy who could possibly be something more. When she woke early, she decided to get up instead of going back to sleep for another hour. And so it was, the routine had begun, where Yvonne would spend most early mornings and evenings washing and eating with Bert Pratt. Of course, as the show got closer to its opening, she was needed more as an actor, than he as a chorus dancer. She hated to admit it to herself, but she rather missed his presence by her when she was forced to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the timings of every other performer in the building. It was rather soothing to share your time with one other person, who always remained constant no matter what else was going on. She wrote a letter home to her family explaining how she had got a role in a show, and was enjoying the company of her fellow artistes. She chose to eliminate the fact that the only other person she ever actually spoke to was not even a proper role. And had a dreadful Nottingham accent. And was male.

Though she didn't have any exciting conversation with Bert, he danced around her mind an awful lot, and however much she tried to concentrate on other things, she always ended up thinking of him. He brightened her days when they had their little interactions, and though she acted indifferently on the outside, he might as well have been wearing a bright yellow jacket, since he brought so much golden sunshine into her day. Who would have thought, Yvonne thought one evening, that a common chorus boy could cause her so much internal confusion?

One evening, Yvonne was looking through the local newspaper, and an advertisement caught her eye. She smiled as she remembered a time not so long ago when she was being guided in the arms of another alongside others. Tearing out the little square of information she placed it in her handbag so that she would be sure to deal with it the morning after.


	6. Chapter 6

(a/n - oh heck yeah another update! I was trying to find some inspiration online to save me trawling through endless episodes but unfortunately there's no fanvids or gifs or reference lists for this super couple so I've stuck with what I can remember since I've no time to be episode marathoning currently given my hectic studies. Enjoy!)

Chapter 6

Bert walked into the building feeling strangely hopeful for a change. Normally he just entered, sat, watched and left but today he had really made an effort. He had seen a smart suit in a charity shop nearby to his digs and was thrilled when it fit him rather well. He was told by the elderly woman behind the counter that thespians in the area were always donating old costumes and clobber and she would keep anything in his size back for him to look at. Of course, he had been eating more basic meals to account for the luxury, but after getting it pressed and picking a flower from a street hanging basket he thought he looked quite the elegant gentleman he aimed to be. He couldn't help but notice how some of the women who normally ignored him glanced his way, but he paid no attention to them and resumed his normal place by the bar. He kept telling himself that he was ridiculously earlier than usual and therefore he should stop leaping everytime the door opened but a small part of him kept waiting and hoping that somebody would enter. Bert smiled to himself when a couple of pretty girls asked if he would have a spin with them but he politely declined and sat on by himself. Just as he was ready to give up hope a figure appeared beside him and coughed lightly. He turned and mentally slapped himself for not realising the door had opened because he was studying a foxtrot very keenly in the far corner of the room. The figure next to him smiled shyly.

"Bert Pratt? I almost didn't recognise you."

"That's me alright!" He grinned at her and she grimaced.

"Ah. The Nottingham accent. It is you, most definitely." She turned and fiddled with her bag awkwardly, and Bert wasn't quite sure what to say or do so he turned back to observing the room and the foxtrot in the far corner. As a lull appeared in the dance, a pretty blonde girl appeared with her partner and smiled sweetly.

"Excuse me, but would you care for a dance? Steven here doesn't mind and you look awfully smart so it seems a shame you ain't dancing." Bert couldn't help but smile at her polite way if addressing him and he was rather keen on practicing some steps so he grinned at her. Then a hand looped itself through his elbow.

"Sorry, he has promised himself to me for the rest of the evening. May I suggest asking the male in the corner? I do believe he has a marvellous grip." Bert turned to see the woman who he was never sure about smiling at the girl and then he stood with her and led her to the dance floor.

He swayed with her gently and delighted in the oh so familiar feel of her in his arms. She really was delightfully slender and soft to dance with. Her arms snaked their way up and around his neck and he allowed his to securely clasp her waist and press her to him. They continued in silence for a number of dances and Bert felt a little confused about her actions although content that she was dancing with him again. He felt closer to his dream of being a ballroom champion than ever.

Yvonne let go of her initial worries at her hastiness. When she had entered the room she had nearly fainted with the shock of seeing him looking so unusually smart. Obviously the suit wasn't as fine as those she had seen but she understood how hard it must be to look dashing on a budget. And her pulse raced when she caught sight of how the flower in his lapel brought out a twinkle in his eyes. When he spoke to her, the accent had ruined the illusion somewhat, but she had other things to worry about. His close proximity was making her body behave quite bizarrely. She hadn't felt the same way since she was a thirteen year old girl at a party... Yvonne had been quite content to sit and ponder, however when a rather pretty girl actually asked him to dance, she could stand it no longer and had cut in, unsure why she was so desperate to dance with him. So now she was swaying with her arms around his neck, her body pressed so close to him that she could smell the sweet perfume of the flower in his lapel. She tried to maintain her dignified demeanour but when he whispered in her ear she couldn't help but relax a little, despite how awkward she suddenly felt.

"So, you're jealous are you?"

"Me? Jealous? Why should I be?"

"Well you seemed pretty hasty in claiming me like a date would." His voice in her ear made her shiver, and she looked up at him through her eyelashes.

"Well you did promise to dance with me after the last dance we were at. And I have not seen you much recently given the show and the nature of rehearsals."

"Ah so you do like me!" He grinned widely at this statement and she couldn't help but marvel at the childish joy which passed over his features when he declared this. She chose not to reply anymore and instead pressed her head against his shirt and they swiftly transitioned into a new style of dance. Yvonne was rather impressed by how smoothly they danced together.

They danced together for the remainder of the evening and when the dance ended he spun her out and kissed her hand as he had done previously, and she felt herself go a little weak at the knees due to the gesture. Again he walked her home and she rested her head against his shoulder slightly, shushing him whenever he tried to speak, for she decided that without the accent he looked almost like the man she had wanted for a while, and she wasn't ready to embrace the Nottingham accent yet. She would work out what to do with it eventually. When they arrived back at the house, he walked her to her box room door and smiled down at her.

"Goodnight, Yvonne." He kissed her knuckles again and before she had quite registered what she was doing, Yvonne had stretched her neck and pecked his lips. As she registered the taste of the remnants of drink he had consumed, Yvonne quickly retreated into her room and locked the door behind her, her mind whirling. What had she gone and done now? Where had her dignity gone?

The next morning Yvonne slept in late after a fitful night of sleep. When she got to the bathroom area she found a glass of water by her washthings. In it was the flower from his lapel the evening previously. She smiled and took the glass to her room, careful not to bump into anyone else while she was on her way there. On top of her chest of drawers it brought a lovely element of colour to her room, just as its owner had brought something into her life. The only problem was, Yvonne was confused as to what that something actually was.


End file.
